Books And Thoughts

Old ghosts that death forgot to ferry Across the Lethe of the years - These are my friends, and at their tears I weep and with their mirth am merry. On a high tower, whose battlements Give me all heaven at a glance, I lie long summer nights in trance, Drowsed by the murmurs and the scents That rise from earth, while the sky above me Merges its peace with my soul's peace, Deep meeting deep. No stir can move me, Nought break the quiet of my release:

In vain the windy sunlight raves At the hush and gloom of polar caves.

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